


america's sweetheart

by ilvermoron



Category: Gallagher Girls Series - Ally Carter
Genre: Alternate Universe - Celebrity, F/F, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-21
Updated: 2018-09-05
Packaged: 2018-12-04 22:30:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 6,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11564640
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ilvermoron/pseuds/ilvermoron
Summary: Rising starlet Cammie Morgan is swept into a world of glitz and glamour when she's cast as the leading lady in the movie adaptation of the bestselling novel Gallagher Girl. All eyes are on Cammie as she gets started filming and meets her castmates-- classy It Girl Bex Baxter, newly discovered talent Liz Sutton, and scandalous supermodel Macey McHenry. Cammie and the girls are forced to bond as they work to do justice to their roles, and Cammie makes the mistake of thinking that's the greatest of her problems. Enter born-and-bred superstar Zachary Goode, whose onscreen chemistry with Cammie as a mysterious Blackthorne Boy translates to real-life loathing and cutthroat competition. Behind the scenes, there's enough dramatics to make a whole other movie about, with Gallagher gossip and Blackthorne blackmail, but Cammie's career is on the line, and there's paparazzi around every corner.





	1. Chapter 1

_"Cameron Ann Morgan has once again caught our attention in her first major role, making a name for herself in Netflix's newest hit show_ Roseville _. Although the show has since been cut from Netflix's original repertoire due to budgetary issues, Miss Morgan's unprecedented talent leaves us all wondering where her career will take her next. While she flourished on the silver screen, is it possible the starlet's next move will take her to Hollywood? Lately, whispers have circulated wildly about her potential to score the leading role in the rumored teen espionage thriller/romance,_ Gallagher Girl _, due to hit theatres sometime next fall. Morgan's certainly got the claws to play with the big cats, but the question isn't about her skill: it's about her readiness to be smack in the middle of the public eye. We know firsthand that publicity is cruel, and not usually good; is Cameron ready to have all eyes on her? We'll be waiting to see where this starlet's headed next."_

_Article by DeeDee Silver, December 20_


	2. the rise

"Hi. I'm Cameron Morgan."

The girl who stood before the three judges wore only a light blue dress and knee-high socks, dishwater blonde hair pulled into a ponytail, and yet I had inexplicably captured their attention more than the two hundred eighty seven other girls, some big names, some nobodies, they'd seen that Tuesday afternoon. They were either girls next door or rising starlets. I, Cameron Morgan, was a little bit of both.

"Hello, Cameron," the man in the center greeted me, glancing down at my headshots before realizing how idiotic that was. The girl he wanted to study, little me, was standing fifteen feet in front of him. I let out a breath when he looked back up, grinning at himself. The photographs weren't very good, and I'd meant to get new ones before coming to Manhattan, but life got in the way.

I still couldn't believe that I was here, standing in a surprisingly small room in a low-profile building in the heart of New York. Although I thought I'd forgotten the names of the proctors, they floated back to me as I looked over them. They studied me right back, a specimen under a microscope.

"Tell us a little bit about yourself," the woman at the right side of the table prompted me. She seemed nice enough, but her eyes were colder than the man in the middle's. She had a mole on her left cheekbone that looked as if it had been placed, coiffed hair so perfect I had to wonder if it had been practiced.

I smiled-- albeit it forced out of anxiety, it was genuine. I was scared, but excited. Thank god, I spoke without shaking.

"I'm seventeen years old, I go to Lifton High in Austin, Texas, and I love theatre with every fiber of my being."

I could really stop there. That's all there is to know about me, truly; the basics. The truths. They can see just by looking that I'm a skinny, unassuming girl with nothing valuable to offer except the fact that I'm damn good at pretending to be other people. And yet, the judges are still smiling at me.

"I've been acting since I was five, and I've been absolutely obsessed with the Gallagher books since I was nine. I used to be able to quote the entire first chapter," I admitted, a little bit embarrassed. "Mrs. Candie is sort of my hero."

The judge in the middle is the one who seemed to like me the most. "All right then, Miss Morgan. You can go ahead with your scene."

"Thank you," I nodded.

"Good luck."

I thought I would need it, but I didn't. I looked down at the paper in my hand and took a deep breath before beginning to read. I didn't know that with every word, I was drawing closer to the rest of my life.


	3. pivotals

I know as well as anybody that the moment your life changes, it doesn't give you fair warning. One minute, you're dirt poor, and the next, if you're lucky, you win the lottery. It's a shower of gold and celebration like no other, triumph encapsulated, like a scene out of some heart-thudding Panic! at the Disco music video. You go from nothing to everything faster than you can bat an eye, and then it's your turn to take the reins and go from there. It's change at breakneck speed. It's like if fate got high.

Or, if you're me, it's like the principal finally found out you've been wearing leggings to school for the entirety of senior year so far. Dress code never really seemed to apply to me, anyway, so I wasn't sure why it should now.

"Cammie Morgan?" Dr. Mosckowitz said, his bald head glinting in the fluorescent lights. He's wearing one of the seven shirts he owns, and I've counted; it's my second year taking AP Chemistry, and I can afford to slack off. I like today's outfit, though, all blue and beige, although I'm not exactly what you'd call fashion-savvy.

"You're wanted in the administration office," he finished, eliciting a murmuring of sarcastic whoops from the class as I slide my backpack onto my shoulder and try (and fail) not to freak out.

"Damn, Morgan, back at it again--"

"See you in juvie."

"Good girls are bad girls who haven't been caught..."

I gave my sniggering classmates an obligatory teenage eye roll, picking up my hall pass from the hook near the door. "See you, Dr. M," I dismissed myself, ducking into the hallway without so much as a look back.

Out of sight of my classmates, I started to obsess.

Maybe they'd finally caught me cramming extra Rice Krispies into my pockets in the lunch line. It wasn't my fault the lunch ladies were stingy, right? How's a girl supposed to survive on cardboard steak fingers and greasy fries alone, anyway? Or maybe it was that time I figured out that the culprit behind the cartoons appearing the bathroom stalls was Chandler Reedy, who was actually plotting a brilliant promposal, and I hadn't told anyone. I wouldn't take the fall for that, even though it was a noble cause. I hadn't worked my butt off in Dabney's second period APUSH to get stuck with a 4 on the AP test and an expulsion for protecting Chandler's schoolboy crush on Poppy Alvarado.

I reached the school's admin office much too quickly for a walk that took me five minutes in a passing period. The receptionist smiled at me from behind her ridiculously messy desk. I couldn't fathom how she managed to keep such excellent track of tardies in that sea of papers. "Hey, Cam!" She chirped, green eyes lined with a pale yellow liner I've only seen attempted by Instafamous beauty gurus. I had to admit, she was pulling it off.

"Hi, Grace," I replied, as cheerfully as I could without exposing my anxiety of being called in to the principal. "Why do they need me?"

She cocks a perfectly shaped brow, a glint of mischief in her eyes. "That's none of my business, but you don't need to stress, honey. I see those frown lines already."

I feel my forehead self-consciously, but Grace waves me off with a manicured hand as the other picks up the phone. "It's fine, sweetie, they've got creams for that now, and you'll need 'em when you're all over our televisions-- Hey, Rach!"

Clearly having been dismissed, I turned toward the principal's office and took a deep breath. My shoes, all too sensible, clicked satisfyingly but not soothingly. My ears were ringing a little, and I momentarily pictured passing out and waking up in the nurse's office with my mom standing over me, doubly pissed because I'd made her leave work  _and_ I'd gotten expelled for whatever I'd been called to the principal's office for--

"Hello, Cameron!"

It was like I'd accidentally brought my nightmare to life, because my mom was sitting in the chair beside Mr. Pryde's desk and... beaming at me? 

Mr. Pryde smiled at his screen and said, "All right, she's here."

I stopped in my tracks, immediately plotting my escape (window? door? spontaneous combustion?), but was stopped when my mother took my hand. "Hey, Cam," she greeted me, probably elated about something, but only managing to fry my nerves more.  _What was going on?_

"Come here, Miss Morgan," Mr. Pryde said, nearly vibrating with glee. You can understand why I was already apprehensive. He stood and gestured to his chair, offering me the seat, and I smiled weakly. I felt my hands fiddling at the belt loop of my jeans, but didn't bother to stop myself.

When I sat in the chair, I found myself looking into a familiar but unnameable face on the other side of a video call. The bubbles of  _what the heck_  forming in my mind popped into all caps. "Hey, Cameron," the man said, smirking conspiratorially. "I'm Joe Solomon. We met in New York two weeks ago."

My vision clears as I identify him-- casting agent for my second-to-last audition. The one I actually cared about. A few days after I auditioned for him (got a callback, by the grace of the universe), I also managed to weasel my way into the lineup for some weird British show called Panic Moon. Apparently a time travel thing. I did really well-- actually, I was really optimistic about a callback, but it turned out I was a little too young.

They'd gotten in my head, though. Now every time I looked in the mirror I had to wonder if I looked like a prepubescent twelve-year-old boy.

I'd ended up almost forgetting about my first audition, even though I was probably the biggest fan of  _Gallagher Girl_  on the planet. The majestic tale of Kat Donovan, teenage spy. Kat Donovan, covert operations master, queen of cover stories, femme fatale. I'd grown up dreaming of being her, dressing up every Halloween, imagining myself as the leading lady of  _GG_. When the casting call went up and Abby called with the news, I had never said yes faster.

"You remember?" Mr. Solomon asked, snapping me back to the present. I nodded, feeling an automatic smile rise to my face. I was still sort of out of it-- was I in trouble?

Out of my periphery, I noticed my mom hold up her phone, recording, but didn't register its significance.

"Yeah, I do!" I confirmed with a cheerful nod. I felt a chunk of my hair fall in my face and dreaded to think of what my hair looked like-- could no one have warned me that I'd be facing someone important?

Mr. Solomon nodded, that smirk still on his face. "Well, we've been debating for a while and studying your performances--"

I flashed back to that awful time I was Fiona in  _Shrek: The Musical_  and prayed to god that Mr. Solomon hadn't been inflicted with that kind of torture. No one deserved that, no matter how much my mom insisted it had been a great performance for a girl who had to become an ogre.

"--and we have some important news," he finished, sitting forward. I knew that tone. Waving the bait in front of me. I didn't dare hope. I didn't dare breathe. All I could do was nod dumbly.

"We'd like to offer you a part."

Cue the internal screaming. I felt my eyes blow wide, and bit down hard on my smile.  _Stay cool. Don't scream._  "Wow, thank you so much!" I gushed, my voice trembling with excitement. This time, it was real. No more plastic, perfect Cam. I vaguely realized most of the office staff had poked their heads in the door. My entire body seemed to be on the edge of collapse. I couldn't breathe at all.

"Are you interested in knowing the role you've landed?" Mr. Solomon teases, his smirk growing. I hate that he already knows exactly how I'm taking this-- like a kid getting Disney tickets and front-row seats to Hannah Montana.

I bite the other side of my lip and nod. At the same time, my long-suffering belt loop finally comes loose in my hand. Without distraction, my hand starts picking at stray threads in my jeans.

He lifts his head, knowing he's got me on the literal edge of the seat. I breathe in, lungs hardly able to resist hyperventilating.

"We'd like to offer you the part of Kat Donovan."


	4. incendiary

Sure, I know I’m Cammie Morgan, practically average in every conceivable way. Cammie who likes navy blue and vanilla lattes and never runs late to class unless she just really needs a waffle breakfast that day. But sitting in that office, when the world shrank down to a tiny room in my awfully boring public high school, I felt the world outside this space collapse and Cammie Morgan didn’t exist anymore. Not really.

Because maybe if I tried, I could be something better. I could be Kat Donovan.

Wait, scratch that-- I  _ am  _ Kat Donovan.

The princess with a pistol, known for her ferocity and wit, notorious for her skill as a pavement artist and at disappearing. She knew just how to slip away inside a crowd and she had a perfect sense of direction. She was brilliant and funny and ingenious, everything I’d always wanted to be.

I’m squealing (embarrassingly) before I can stop myself, and Mr. Solomon smirks with satisfaction. He’s pretty, I subconsciously realize, but the thought gets erased long before it gets very far because  _ I can’t get my head around the fact that I’m the lead in the film adaptation of my favorite book-- _

I’m having a conversation, but I have no idea what about. My mom has arrived, presumably emerging from her hiding place in the neighboring office, everyone’s smiling-- Grace’s eyeliner really does look amazing-- and I’m sitting on my hands to keep them from shaking.

I finally control myself enough to look back at the computer monitor. “Thank you  _ so  _ much, Mr. Solomon.” Even though I’d tried to stop, my voice trembles a little, and I hope he doesn’t notice.

He nods curtly, and I wonder if he’s used to telling people their dreams are coming true. “Can’t wait to see you again, Cammie. We’ll be in touch. And call me Joe,” he tags on.

We say our goodbyes, and I somehow manage not to spontaneously combust while I’m waiting for the green light on the webcam to go away. It does, at long last, and I release a breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding as the office staff collapse into praises. I can barely say my thank-yous fast enough, and my mom sweeps me out of the school before I can be completely overwhelmed.

“Mom, wait--” I’m protesting idly, “it’s barely one o’clock, I’m going to miss seventh period.”

She turns to me with a hand on her hip, one perfect eyebrow raised indignantly. “Cameron Ann Morgan, you just got the lead in your favorite story. I think your calculus homework can wait until tomorrow.”

I feel myself smiling, even though my cheeks ache from the office ordeal. The revelation beats in my head in harmony with my pulse.  _ Kat Donovan. Kat Donovan. Kat Donovan. _

Once I’m in the car, my mom finally gets down to business. She’s always the picture of the cool mom around my friends, around everyone. The thing is, she’s always a cool mom in my opinion; letting your fourteen-year-old take a lead role in a show that no one’s heard of is pretty cool the me. And hey, here we are: from Rosewood to Gallagher Academy.

“You know this isn’t going to be all fun and games, right, Cam?” She asks, and I can tell she’s nervous. I’m all she has, and we’ve all heard the stories: child stars that burn out too fast and go off the rails. I’m still in the danger zone, being seventeen, and she’s all too aware of that.

I cross my legs in the seat of the car, watching Lifton High School from the outside. In there, people just like me are studying, getting ready for a cubicle life. And out here, not even a little bit different from them, I’m sitting in my mom’s car and replaying the conversation that somehow sparkles against the backdrop of every other memory I have. It’s the kind of moment that you miss even when it’s happening, like late restaurant nights with your best friends and ice cream in the summer. “I know, Mom.” And then, after a second of considering it, I say, “I can refuse it, if you want--”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she says without hesitation. “This is your moment, Cam, and I’m not going to take it from you. I just… I don’t want you to lose track of the good girl I know you are.”

I love my mom. She’s everything I want to be, but I know she wanted to do so much more than she ended up with. She changed after Dad died-- we both did. How could anyone avoid changing when the gravity of their life gets thrown for a loop like that? Anyway, she’s beautiful; I wish I could rest easy knowing I’ll look like her when I’m older, but I think I missed out on the pretty side of the gene pool.

“Baked Bear?” She suggests, changing the subject.

I smile to myself. “Baked Bear.”

The Baked Bear is our local ice cream shop, notorious for their machinery that’s made solely to heat up the cookie part of an ice cream sandwich without melting the ice cream inside. In short, it’s the greatest thing to ever hit our city, and I’ve spent way too many nights sitting in the neon-lit window with my friends and pigging out on ice cream.

My phone buzzes in my lap, and I look down--

**[ TEXT: unknown ]** Hey, Cammie. It’s Joe. Just clarifying-- no one can know about your casting until the information gets released. You’ll be getting an email regarding when read-throughs and filming will get started. See you then.

I’m grinning again, looking like an idiot. It’s still pretty surreal, thinking about how my life is about to go off-the-rails crazy, but I’m a newbie. I can’t wait. I save his number and reply.

**[ TEXT: outgoing ]:** Gotcha. When will the list get released?

**[ TEXT: Joe ]:** You’ll know.

Whatever that’s supposed to mean.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey awesome nerds! sorry for the long delay, i just started college and life has been insane. i'm going to try to up my activity over here, and i can't wait to find out what happens to cam next. i love seeing y'all's comments and all, so if you'd like, feel free to tell me how i'm doing!


	5. grapevine

**_CARTERBUZZ_ **

**_BREAKING:_ ** _ GALLAGHER GIRLS’ LEADING CAST RELEASED! _

_ The thrilling teen literature sensation hit the shelves six years ago, but only this spring have rumors begun to circulate about its adaptation to the big screen. Sure enough, those rumors were confirmed over summer, and an open casting call posted to the public. Thousands turned out, vying for the opportunity to be an iconic Gallagher Girl or Blackthorne Boy, but only a lucky few walked away that day with the fate of their name in lights. _

_ Today, the leading cast was announced in one fell blow by executive producer Joseph Solomon, and the internet exploded. Without further ado, here’s the list we were given: _

Kat Donovan………………Cameron Morgan

Lacey Lundy...…………….Rebecca Baxter

Jessica Price……………….Elizabeth Sutton

Bailey Dorian………………Macey McHenry

Davis Burnstone…………..Zachary Goode

Harrison Bradley………….Grant Dodson

Luke Ketcherston…………Jonas Cooper

Oliver Dunne………………Preston Winters

_ What’s your stance on the faces to match the names we grew up loving? Leave your opinion down below. _

_ DeeDee Silver, September 18th _

 

 

**CarterBuzz said:** Sisters of Gillian, hang onto your earpieces: The GG movie cast was just released. What do you think of the lovely lads and ladies chosen to be the heroes we love so much?

**majestictales said:** DFSJLDFAFSHULDFHLDFKJLDFKJL IT’S HAPPENGING HOYL SHITH

**katiefinley said:** perfect casting! can’t say i’ve seen any of cameron or elizabeth’s previous works, but i’m sure they’ll do fantastically!

**wouldyoulikeadoctor said:** IM SCREAMING HIFY FUCK

**soonermagic said:** LORD ALMIGHTY I HAVE BEEN PRAYING FOR THIS SINCE I WAS ELEVEN AND I CAN’T CHOOSE ANYONE BETTER TO PLAY DAVIS I’M DEAD

**KatelynToncey said:** Hmm… although I’m a fan of Rebecca and Macey, I don’t think that I’ve ever heard of Elizabeth and I didn’t like Cameron in Rosewood. Hope this wonderful book doesn’t suffer an awful fate at the hands of one-dimensional acting and bad direction... I had such high hopes for The Lightning Thief. 

**scallisondilaurentis said:** HOLY SHIT holy shit HOLY SHIT holy shit HOLY SHIT HOLY SHIT HOLY SHIT HOLY SHIT HOLY SHIIIIIIIIIIT

**tardistantrum said:** hi i sign up for cammie i stan her now bye social life


	6. alliances

I can’t say that I slept well the night after Joe called.  _ Rosewood _ had been one thing-- Gallagher Academy is another entirely. I don’t know what I had that someone else didn’t, what about my boring blondish hair and unappealing greeny-gray eyes had drawn someone to think I’m the incredible Kat Donovan. On one hand, I’m flattered.

On the other, I’m terrified. 

After four hours of unsuccessfully laying in my bed, tossing about in search of a comfortable spot on the mattress, I give up. I grab my phone from where it charges on my bedside table and get up, wrapping my worn-out fleece blanket around me as I get out of bed. The hardwood floors are chilly beneath my bare feet. With my mom asleep downstairs and every light out, the house feels almost unreal. The normally sunlit hallways are soaked in shadows, the night lights downstairs glowing up the walls and stretching the shadows of lamps and furniture into deformed stripes of darkness.

I continue downstairs, not sure where I’m going until I end up in the kitchen. The glowing clock above the stove reads 2:15 am. I flick on the light, wincing when the world is washed in brightness again, and find my favorite glass on the counter near the sink. Once it’s filled with icy water, I check my phone and perch on the stool pulled up to the kitchen island. 

I have a new text message from an unknown number, and it piques my interest--

**[ unknown ] 1:52am** hey, is this cameron morgan? my name’s bex, i got your number from brooke henley.

Brooke Henley was a production manager on  _ Rosewood _ , and she isn’t known for leaking numbers to just anyone. I save the number, even if it’s just going to get lost in my ever-expanding contact list. Still, I’m not sure who Bex is, and I hesitate before replying. What if she’s a smear artist-- someone whose entire goal in life is to dig up partially-true dirt on rising celebs and make them look like total scum? Not that there’s much about me to smear-- I’m practically invisible.

It’s that thought that calms me enough to convince me to text back.

**[ Cammie ] 2:17am** Yeah, this is Cammie. Who are you?

I wait on the edge of my seat-- or, more accurately, my stool-- for a response, before I remember that it’s the dead of night and Bex might have fallen asleep again. I sip my water, marveling at how middle-of-the-night water tastes so much better than regular water, and then--

**[ Bex ] 2:18am** i was in mini-i5, one of brooke’s other projects. she mentioned you once or twice, and when i saw the leaked cast list i thought i’d say hi. i don’t know anybody else in gg.

The second Bex says Mini-I5, my heart nearly punches right out of my chest. Bex is Rebecca Baxter, one of the brightest rising stars there is. She’s sixteen, dresses like nobody’s business, and held her own next to Emily freaking Blunt in her last movie. Not to mention her presence on social issues-- Bex fears no man and isn’t afraid to show it.

I have to carefully craft my next reply to her, now that I know who she is. I turn off auto-capitalization-- it’s only on for when I have to be professional, and Bex has hers off-- and type out a response.

**[ Cammie ] 2:20am** i’m still trying to get my head around all of this. i don’t know anyone else either, at least not personally. where are you?

**[ Bex ] 2:20am** san jose, atm. you?

So under an hour away from me. I’m practically giggling as I respond.

**[ Cammie ] 2:21am** palo alto.

**[ Bex ] 2:21am** really? i’m between projects until gg starts reading, wanna grab coffee tomorrow? i’ll buy if you drive up here.

Coffee in San Jose with Rebecca--  _ Bex _ \-- Baxter? Is that even a question?

Rational Cammie chimes in from the back of my mind at that. Getting coffee is definitely a question if I factor in the paparazzi presence. Bex is in high demand, so she’ll definitely have some people on her tail, and now that the cast list is out, I guess I will, too.

Am I willing to deal with that? So far, I’ve only dealt with a few small-time guys crashing junior prom right after  _ Rosewood _ premiered on Netflix. I don’t know what to do if I get faced with a swarm like what I’ve seen around the Baxter family.

But Bex will.

**[ Cammie ] 2:24am** sounds great, send me the address. how about 1 pm?

Bex sends me a location to someplace called Clare's, and it's about a forty minute drive if I consider afternoon traffic. Instead of driving, I'll ask Isaac to take me-- I don't trust myself around California drivers all the way to San Jose. Anyway, he'll be excited about me going to meet new friends. He's been worried about my social skills since ranting for too long about all the people who would gladly use me for fame when I was in ninth grade.

My phone buzzes one more time, and I smile, thinking of how much my life has changed that I'm getting double-texted by Bex Baxter.

**[ Bex ] 2:25am** wear something with blue and gray. gallagher pride, right?

_ Gallagher pride. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey buds! sorry for the delay, college and life got busy for a long time. updates should come regularly for the next month or so :)


	7. front and center

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cammie meets her new costar Bex, and it looks like the beginning of something she's never experienced before.

At 12:53 pm, I’m sitting at a counter at the back window of Clare’s, bouncing my leg to try and shake out some of the nerves that can’t seem to stay contained. The anxiety started in my chest, then moved down to my knees-- that’s when that leg started bouncing-- and all I can hope is that the nervousness stays down there, far away from my mouth. I don’t want to turn into a chatterbox the first time I talk to the coolest person I’ve ever met.

My social media notifications have been off ever since I booked Roseville, but I’m grateful for that now more than ever. Looking at the sheer amount of activity rolling in from every public platform is dizzying.

A thousand new followers since yesterday on Instagram.

Three thousand on Twitter.

I sort of wish Bex hadn’t suggested a coffee shop, since I’m already shaking so much from adrenaline and anxiety that caffeine might actually make me implode. I feel like I’ve been here for hours, though I know I only got here ten minutes early. Bex isn’t the kind of person you rush, either, and I wouldn’t dare asking her when she’s going to get here. I can pretend to be as laid-back and relaxed as she is.

That facade’s only gonna last five minutes, tops, but it’s worth a shot. For the first time in a while, I’m actually eager to impress someone.

“Cammie?”

I turn around to face the side door, and there she is. Rebecca Baxter, curls hardly contained in a baby blue satin scrunchie, vintage-looking denim jacket settled comfortably over her lithe shoulders. She’s honestly the prettiest person I’ve ever seen in my life, even in person. It’s weird, to see her out of character. She’s not just  _ real _ , she’s three feet in front of me in probably-Gucci slides and slinky black leggings. I hope she’s wearing makeup, because having skin that clear should be a crime.

I realize after an awkward breath too long that I need to answer. “Yeah, hi. You’re Bex?”

I know who she is. She knows I know who she is. Everybody who doesn’t live under a rock knows who she is, but not everyone gets to call her Bex. Maybe that’s why she smiles.

“Glad you made it,” she greets me with a perfect smile.“I heard the highway was a complete mess around noon.”

“I left early,” I admit, and immediately realize how heavy her accent is. She speaks like a princess, and I didn’t even realize it until I said ‘early’ and the ‘r’ sound became ugly. I never noticed my own Midwestern twang before now.

She tilts her head towards the line, and I stand up from my stool before she even has to explain what she’s asking. At my eagerness, Bex smiles even more. “Have you ordered yet?”

Embarrassed by how gross my voice sounds in comparison to hers, I just say, “Yes,” and hope I don’t sound rude. I could listen to Bex talk for hours, with no interruptions. It’s just that, if voices were colors, Bex’s is Tiffany blue and mine is muddy brown.

“The apple spice muffins are  _ glorious _ ,” she says, letting her dark eyes roll back in her head to express her love for them. “I wish Clare would expand her business, but I’m glad she doesn’t. It wouldn’t be special anymore if just anyone could know the beauty of an orange zest mocha.”

I’ve never heard anyone say ‘orange’ as a two-syllable word before.

“So I should try the apple spice muffins, right?” I conclude as we enter the line. 

“Obviously,” she smiles. “As far as drinks go, are you a coffee or tea person?”

“Coffee,” I say without hesitation.

Bex nods thoughtfully. “Me too. Are you feeling more basic or adventurous?”

I’m a basic person in general. Caramel lattes are usually my boundary for adventure, and I don’t even go that far out on a limb much. But Bex is smirking at me with that notorious glint in her eye, and I think disappointing her would be the worst mistake I could possibly make.

“Adventurous,” I lie through my teeth.

She doesn’t notice a thing is wrong-- or, if she does, she doesn’t react. She is an actress, after all, so I have no way of knowing whether she can tell I’m a loser or not. I look around us to see if anyone else saw through my lie, but it doesn’t seem so. There’s hardly a dozen people in the warm little shop, and none of them seem to recognize Bex, which is a miracle in my book. She’s the brightest rising starlet in Hollywood right now, according to every gossip magazine the girls at school read.

“Okay, Miss Adventurous. I dare you to try the juniper blossom latte.”

Before I can answer, protest that juniper sounds like something spicy and I’m the biggest spice wimp this side of the Mississippi, she’s turning away, already ordering her own. Her hair wafts the smell of her perfume-- simple vanilla-- towards me, and I resign myself to my fate of the juniper blossom latte as Bex orders the orange zest. There’s about four baristas working the counter, and I watch as two of them start to prepare our drinks. One of them, a girl with clouds of blonde, curly hair, does a comical double take-- I guess she’s the first to realize who we are. Bex offers her a smile, and the girl’s dark eyes sparkle with glee before she turns away to hide her reddening face.

“I love coming here,” Bex says, only loud enough that I can hear her. “They’ve got a revolving door of teenage baristas. I’ve never seen the same one twice, and they’re the only ones who recognize me.”

“How?” I ask, more than a little awe in my voice.

She looks at me with amusement dancing across her expression. “Surprise, surprise, but I’m not a big hit with the baby boomers. The politics are apparently a turn-off.”

I roll my eyes before I can think better of it. “What, are you supposed to be a Barbie doll or something? You’re allowed to have opinions.”

“I do. Quite a lot of them, actually. For example, I hate gossiping, but--”

“Orange zest latte for,” the blonde barista calls, then looks both ways and drops her voice to a lower volume, “Bex?”

The girl says Bex’s name the same way a kid tells Santa what they want for Christmas, like it’s a special breed of secret. Her cheeks are still cherry red.

“Thanks, love,” Bex says, giving her that show-stopping smile. The girl, whose nametag reads  _ Anna _ , looks like she’s on the edge of fainting. I don’t think she even sees me-- or if she does, she doesn’t think as highly of me as she does of Bex.

I don’t mind. In fact, it’s pretty relieving to be able to rely on being nondescript whenever the world seems out to see you and be seen by you. I’ve taken more pictures  _ of  _ my  _ Roseville _ costars with their fans than I’ve actually been in them. It was a running joke on set that I was secretly invisible, and it looks like I’m gonna continue that tradition.

Anna smiles again, all rosy cheeks and slightly crooked teeth. “I’m so sorry, but can we-- I don’t know. Is it okay if we take a selfie?”

“Of course!” Bex chirps.

Like I said, more pictures  _ of _ fans than  _ with _ them.

“Come on, Cammie,” she says, then takes my hand and pulls me with her around the side of the counter. My heart tries to pole vault right up into my mouth.

Now that she’s said my name, Anna’s eyes are on me. It’s a split second before she lights up all over again. “Ohmygod, you’re Cameron Morgan-- I literally love your show so much, my mom and I bingewatched the whole thing together over summer. You’re  _ so _ cool!”

I laugh a little as Bex and I come around the side of the counter to stand before Anna, who’s practically vibrating with excitement. “Thank you, but I’m so not--”

“Damn right, she’s cool,” Bex replies before I can finish. “That’s why we’re having a sleepover tonight.”

“We are?” I ask, at the same time Anna asks, “You are?”

“We are,” Bex answers both of us, then lets her eyes dart to mine. “Unless you’re busy.”

Who in their right mind is too busy to have a sleepover with Bex freaking Baxter?

“Nope,” I decide.

Anna’s eyes are about ready to pop out of their sockets as she watches the pair of us, and I’m sure it’s mostly due to Bex’s presence. Everything she does is automatically cool.

Bex looks to Anna and extends a graceful hand, the one that’s not holding mine. I hope to god my palm isn’t clammy. “I’ll take it on your phone?” She asks, and Anna eagerly complies, pulling a pastel yellow phone from the front pocket of her apron. Bex opens the front camera and turns towards the natural light filtering in through the windows, and Anna and I mimic her.

“Hang on,” Bex says, swapping places with Anna so she’s in the middle. Her hair smells like pears. Now, Bex and I bookend Anna, who can’t be more than five foot three, and in the camera I can see the pure delight in the girl’s eyes. “Ready?” Bex asks, and Anna and I nod. “One, two, three--”

Bex takes a few photos of the three of us smiling, then instructs us all to ‘mean mug’, which apparently means to look simultaneously pissed off and super-hot-- her definition, not mine. Then there’s a few silly ones, and even making ugly faces, Bex is ridiculously pretty. 

When Bex returns Anna’s phone to her hands, you’d think it was the holy grail. Anna babbles out an excited thanks to us both, and she definitely sees me now.

Come to think of it, everyone does. After the selfies and Anna’s eagerness, more people are looking up. Recognizing Bex, and then recognizing me. I may be nuts, but I think they see more than just a random girl beside her. 

I’m not invisible anymore, and it’s kinda fun.


End file.
